Читать книгу Bangalore - Roger Crook - Страница 7

The long wait.

Even though Angus had said that he would cook the dinner, Rachael finished up organising everybody and being the life of the small party. The tension between her and Michelle had dissipated and they chatted happily as they set the table under the veranda and close to a blaze of bougainvillea. They lit the mosquito coils and the citronella torches, putting candles on the table to compliment the soft lights hidden in the bougainvillea.

Rachael let the heat of the gas-fired barbecue build up until she was satisfied and then called everyone to choose what they wanted for dinner. Soon the air was filled with the smell of cooking. Alice had prepared a favourite of Rachael’s, Tandoori chicken. A simple marinade of yoghurt and Tandoori spices. For those who didn’t want chicken, there were home-made sausages and marinated mutton chops.

Absent-mindedly, Pat stood looking at one of the flaming torches and thought the combination of the torches and the smell of Tandoori suited the moment – not only was she at a place called Bangalore, but the naked flames together with the aroma of exotic spices reminded her of her tour in Afghanistan, of markets and dark eyes and the smell of cooking and strange spices.

Then she looked at her watch, eight o’clock. Four o’clock in Afghanistan. If the search and rescue team were to leave at first light they would have been briefed. If they had decided to go in the dark using satellite navigation and night vision they would be resting, waiting. Waiting for darkness so they could get into their helicopters, weapons ready, medics ready, rotors slapping, then go chattering low over the treacherous landscape of Afghanistan homing in on Ewen and his party and telling them and whoever was trying to kill them, telling the Taliban, they were coming.

She felt an arm round her shoulder. “No good giving you a penny for your thoughts; it’s written all over your face.” It was Angus. He gave her a glass of wine.

“Sorry, Angus. I was miles away.”

“Night flying in Afghanistan?”

“Mmm.”

“Come and sit down. Rachael is just finishing.”

Everyone did their best to make light conversation during the meal. The flickering candles and the burning torches gave an eerie light. At any other time it would have been a warm and friendly, even romantic, atmosphere. Now it was different. Shadows on faces showed the strain they were under. Michelle looked tired. A couple of times while she was talking she had rested her head on Roddy’s shoulder and stopped mid-sentence but then started again. Once when she stopped and started again, she talked about something entirely different. Nobody mentioned it.

Pat sat between Rachael and Angus on one side of the table. Mostly they all pecked and pushed their food round their plates – only Angus and Roddy finished their meal. Michelle didn’t eat anything except for a bit of salad.

Rachael cleared away the plates and returned from the kitchen with a bowl of fruit and a platter of cheese and dry biscuits. Angus opened a bottle of his best Margaret River Shiraz and an old bottle of wooded chardonnay and they sat, sipped, nibbled and talked. Pat felt alone, desolate, and Rachael, as if she knew, held her hand, and they grew closer.

Angus felt empty and apprehensive. He’d never felt like it before. He’d never had to examine his feelings for those he loved, especially in matters of life and death. When Ewen had told him he didn’t want Bangalore, that he was going to be an army officer, he’d unemotionally accepted it. Should he have tried to stop him? If he had, would it have kept him safe? Who knows? He’d never tried to influence his children; he didn’t like people who wanted to control, to influence others. He believed in freedom, in being a free spirit. For a fleeting moment he wondered if that was why he was the only one around the table who was really alone. He didn’t like the question and the half ‘yes but’ answer creeping into his mind, so he pushed it away.

Michelle and Roddy went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and a jug of coffee with the freshly ground coffee Michelle had brought with her. In all her visits since they’d been divorced he’d never known Michelle go into the kitchen, not once. Now she tended to them all and even fussed a little with a natural warmth he hadn’t seen for a long time, not since they’d first married. Had he misjudged her?

Roddy took a small tin of cigars out of his breast pocket and offered Angus one. He declined and said he’d stick to rolling his own cigarettes. He offered his tobacco pouch to Pat, who rolled herself a cigarette, Michelle watched saying nothing. When Rachael took the pouch her eyebrows arched, but still she said nothing.

Time passed slowly. Michelle made more tea and coffee. Angus looked at his watch as the phone rang. Without saying anything he got up and hurried into the homestead as the ringing seemed to become more urgent. Then it stopped. It was one-thirty in the morning.

After about ten minutes Angus came back and sat down. Trying to smile he looked at them one by one around the table. “That was the army. They got them out about two hours ago; they should be in Kabul by now. Ewen is one of the injured; they have no details except that he is injured. They said they will ring again as soon as they have any more information. They thought about two or three hours; that will give the medical team time to give a proper report or whatever they call it. He said he was sorry that he didn’t have more information but that he thought that he’d better ring with what he has.”

Michelle had gone very pale and tears were running down her cheeks and she was dabbing them with a handkerchief. Roddy had his arm around her. Angus had his hands folded on the table; Rachael reached and put her right hand over them. Her left hand was holding Pat’s hand. It was Rachael who spoke first. “The best thing we can do is try and get some rest, at least have a lie down and try. I’ll stay up and listen for the phone just in case they ring.”

Nobody moved. Nobody wanted to go to bed and be alone with their thoughts. Roddy said, “C’mon, Michelle, let’s go down to our room. You can doze in a chair if you don’t want to go to bed. You can’t sit out here all night; it’s nearly two o’clock now. Michelle got up. She hadn’t spoken since Angus had got off the phone; she had stopped crying but hadn’t regained any colour in her face, which was now devoid of any expression. She went round the table and kissed each one of them on the top of the head and allowed Roddy to usher her into the house.

Angus took his hands from under Rachael’s and said, “I’m going to have a large whisky – anybody else?”

Rachael looked at him. “Brandy, Dad. Have you got any?”

“I have – a bottle of your grandfather’s best cognac at the back of the cabinet. Pat?”

“Whisky, Angus, then I might try and lie down, I’m wide awake at the moment.”

As he got up they heard footsteps on the veranda and Ali appeared around the corner of the house. Angus smiled when he saw him. “Ali, my boy, come on in and join us. Do you want a drink – whisky, brandy, beer, what’ll you have?”

“Whisky will do fine, Angus, thanks. I saw the lights on and I couldn’t sleep so I came over. Have you heard anything?”

“Rachael can tell you while I get the drinks.”

Pat was the first to go to bed. She got undressed and lay down, wide-awake and thinking of Ewen. She heard Angus close his bedroom door across the hallway. She was glad that Ali had come over to sit with Rachael to talk to her and listen for the phone.